


Stuck in a Cave During a Downpour With a Witcher

by WizardsandPsychos



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assassination Attempt(s), Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Feelings Realization, Gay, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Rain, Sex In A Cave, Tags Are Hard, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardsandPsychos/pseuds/WizardsandPsychos
Summary: Desire, jealousy, realization. Jaskier and Geralt’s journey, though hindered by a downpour, turned into an eventful one.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 170





	Stuck in a Cave During a Downpour With a Witcher

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Geraskier fanfic. Also, I don’t have a beta so there may be grammatical errors.

Jaskier snapped out of his trance when a heavy thump startled him. He was absorbed in observing his companion’s rear, appreciating its firmness under those leather pants he wore like a second skin, as the morning sun rose from behind him. Jaskier cleared his throat before scanning his surroundings, now more detailed than how it looked like the previous night.

“Your things,” Geralt huffed, eyebrows drawn together, “Why are you not packing them yet?”

“Worry not, Geralt, I’ve very little belongings with me this time.” Jaskier averted his gaze away from the Witcher, smiling as he did so, in order to avoid, if any, suspicion. “I’ve learned from past experiences to travel lightly and efficiently.”

Geralt shot him a look then released a small exhale as he continued loading his equipment on Roach’s back. “We have to move,” he said in a grumbly tone when he finished, “We have to reach the nearest village before dusk.”

Jaskier immediately followed when Geralt strode towards the direction of their destination without looking back to check if the bard did, indeed, follow him. Jaskier, however, was completely fine with this, since this was an opportunity to ogle at the Witcher’s beautiful bum.

Before the sun had the chance to completely hide behind the mountains on the horizon, Geralt and his mouthy companion reached the medium-sized village north of Oxenfurt and was able to find a decent place to sleep for the night, before continuing their journey to Novigrad.

The two of them had supper among the other inhabitants of the inn, who were, thankfully, not busybodies and left the two of them to their own devices, save for the lone man that was sat on the other side of the building that repeatedly glanced towards their direction with a questionable look on his face.

Jaskier took a bite on his food, following Geralt’s line of vision, before saying: “You know, Geralt,” he gulped, “You’ll actually have to talk to someone in order to invite them.”

Geralt then looked at Jaskier, his eyebrows scrunched more than usual. “Invite?” He grunted; confusion evident in his tone.

“Mm-hmm,” Jaskier wiped his mouth daintily with a napkin, “You know, to bed? Seems like the both of you are having a telepathic conversation.”

“Shut up, bard,” Geralt rumbled, “Unlike you, I don’t fuck everything that moves.”

Jaskier clutched his chest and gasped melodramatically before saying, “I do not!”

“You do,” Geralt replied matter-of-factly.

“Well, not EVERYTHING. I do have standards; in case you weren’t aware.”

“Yeah, a damn weird one.”

Jaskier shot him a look of disbelief before frowning. He fell silent for the first time that day, staring at the untouched, steamy soup in front of him, briefly lost in his own thoughts. “That’s if you consider yourself weird, too,” he muttered, belatedly hoping that it was soft enough to avoid the Witcher’s keen sense of hearing.

Geralt’s gaze also settled on the soup that Jaskier was looking at, before snatching it and draining the bowl of its contents.

“Hey!” Jaskier protested.

“You weren’t touching it. It’s gotten cold.”

Jaskier pouted before resuming his dinner silently. Geralt scanned the whole room for anything else that he would deem strange, then searched for the solitary man, finding that he was no longer there, nor anywhere in their immediate surroundings.

When Jaskier finished his meal, the two of them went to their bedroom, which had two beds and a small space to bathe in. Geralt immediately prepared a bath, wherein Jaskier changed to a more comfortable outfit and started scribbling on a parchment furiously, sitting beside the opened window that showcased the beauty of the moon.

“You’re awfully silent, bard,” Geralt spoke, breaking the still silence in the room, “Something wrong?”

Jaskier decided to ignore the tone that he thought would be of concern, observing the movement of the water against Geralt’s body, before shifting his gaze to the Witcher’s face. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong. We haven’t been together for a really long time for you to know that I could actually be silent, you know.” Geralt’s expression had no change, pressuring Jaskier to elaborate, hands uneasily trying to convey what he meant and failing. “W-Well, I mean, not together, ‘together’, but-- you know.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, his low voice causing Jaskier’s heart to thump intensely against his ribcage.

The whole duration of Geralt’s bath was spent in silence, since both were consumed by their own thoughts. Without uttering a single word, Jaskier walked towards his bed and settled in for the night, Geralt following suit.

A few minutes have passed and Jaskier’s senses only registered the darkness of the room – challenged by the moonlight that penetrated the shut windows – and his companion’s steady breathing. He shuffled in his bed to lie flat on his back, staring at the dimmed ceiling, then turned his head to glance uncertainly at Geralt. His silver hair shined despite the darkness that engulfed the room, and Jaskier was able to see the outline of his bulky body.

He felt uncertainty creeping to his chest – a gnawing pain that felt like being ripped apart by a beast – at the thought of another person taking his place beside the Witcher. He remembered the man that Geralt was staring at when they were in the dining hall and was suddenly horrified by the thought that Geralt could simply leave him if he wished. He wasn’t even sure if Geralt had a penchant for men.

Jaskier sighed, closing his eyes, and decided to avert his thoughts to something else. He imagined what it would feel like to be held by those strong arms, to be kissed by those firm lips, to be completely dominated by that hulking superhuman. He imagined, just like how he had been doing for the past few nights that he was in the Witcher’s vicinity. He wondered how Geralt’s fingers would feel against his skin, what it would feel like as it works on loosening his hole. He shuddered when he envisioned the thing in Geralt’s groin, behind his pants, that he had been gawking at. Judging by the Witcher’s built, by his height, his thing would be amazingly larger than the other men that Jaskier had slept with.

He felt the heat creep from his face to the whole of his body, rushing down to his lower half. Jaskier inhaled sharply as a hand moved to his half-hard erection, gently tracing the protruding vein upwards, and as the other went to his mouth to suck on two of his fingers. He bit on his fingers softly to fight back any sound that could even be slightly louder than an intake of breath, levelling the in and out of air from his lungs, as a hand worked on relieving his now painful, fully hard cock. His grasp on his erection became more and more pleasurable, and a moan almost escaped his lips when he penetrated his hole with his two spit-slick fingers. He paused for a short while, sensing if Geralt had woken up and caught wind of what he was doing, then continued when there was no change in anything.

He felt his walls throb against his fingers, and his back arched when he reached deeper to graze on his prostate. His legs tensed as he neared his climax, and his whole body trembled. Jaskier worried that the bed might be a bit too noisy, but his sexual relief was currently more important for him. He controlled his breathing, biting hard on his lips, when he felt the pressure building up in his abdomen.

“Oh, G-Geralt,” he muttered involuntarily, not even a small amount of articulation for anyone, even himself, to understand what he had just said. He came not long after, bucking his hips forward as cum splattered against his loose pants. He really hoped that he was silent enough for the Witcher to stay asleep.

_Thank the heavens for multiple garments._

When Jaskier woke up, he found Geralt already fully clothed, sitting silently on the chair on the corner of the room as he drank ale. He was staring on the other side of the room, near to where Jaskier was, seeming like he was lost in thought. If Roach was present, Geralt would be talking to him, and Jaskier would be able to eavesdrop on their, uh, ‘ _conversation’_ and would know, even just a little, what his thoughts are.

“You’ll start looking a lot older if you insist on frowning,” Jaskier commented on Geralt’s furrowed brows. “So early in the morning, and your face is already so tense.”

Geralt moved his gaze to look directly at Jaskier’s eyes. “I am old, bard,” he retorted, emphasizing on the word ‘am’

“Oh, no, no. I was talking about, uh, physical appearance.” Geralt only shot him a look of disbelief and slight irritation.

“Start packing. We’re leaving.”

“Not even some time for breakfast?” Jaskier whined, although a bit melodramatically. “Shutting up now,” he muttered when Geralt glared daggers at him.

“That man last night might be some sort of assassin,” Geralt informed, “I don’t know why he was watching us, but we’ll have to get out of this village before anything unfortunate happens.”

“Could it be that…” Jaskier gulped, nervous at the possibility of being an assassin’s target, “Could it be that he’s after me?”

Geralt huffed, not in an exasperated manner, but more of a consoling one. “It’s possible.” Jaskier’s horror was somehow soothing for Geralt, seeing that the bard was still concerned for himself. “Let’s not wait around to find out.”

They were in the middle of low valleys when thunder rumbled in the distance. It was only midday, but under no circumstances could they continue travelling. Geralt grunted in irritation at the thought of being hindered by nature, since they would have been able to reach Novigrad by nightfall.

Jaskier wandered off and fortunately found a small, cave-like hole on a hill where they decided to camp for the night, smiling smugly as he proved himself somewhat useful to the brooding Witcher. He gathered firewood before the rain came, and Geralt came in later with two dead rabbits in hand, finding Jaskier sitting near the fire that he made. A corner of the Witcher’s lips quirked, smirking at the sight of the shivering bard.

“’ _Travel lightly and efficiently,’_ huh?” He rumbled, walking towards the fire. “Why in the world do you not have anything warm, bard?”

Jaskier yelped when he heard Geralt spoke. “By the gods, Geralt, you almost killed me!” He rested a hand on his chest, as if to calm himself, before standing up to get a thin cloak from his satchel and draping it over his shoulders. He walked back to the fire – to where Geralt was – with an uncharacteristic frown on his face which earned him a low chuckle from the Witcher. “Oh, so now you decide to laugh.”

“That’s not warm enough, Jaskier,” Geralt commented after a few seconds of silence.

“It isn’t nightfall yet. The fire’s warm enough, thank you very much.”

Geralt started to clean the rabbits, gutting and then washing them with rainwater, before impaling the meat on four thin sticks and setting them near the fire to cook. He then busied himself with polishing his swords, cleaning his boots, and anything else he can do, lest he falls to the temptation of teasing the bard.

Jaskier starts strumming his lute, humming a melody which was foreign to Geralt’s ears. He looked up, frowning, then said after a while, “You’re not making a song about being stuck in a cave during a downpour with a witcher, are you?”

Jaskier turns to him with an obviously guilty look, stammering as he rummaged his brain for excuses and failing. Geralt relaxes his face, much to Jaskier’s surprise, before he laughed – not chuckle – making the bard blush bright red in embarrassment. “L-Let’s not forget that I am tasked to change your image, oh Witcher, sir!”

“A task you imposed on yourself, bard,” Geralt retorted, amused and satisfied by the bard’s reactions.

Jaskier fell silent, not defeated but instead, he was staring at the Witcher in confusion. His eyebrows were drawn together, and he neared his tilted head, narrowing his eyes to hint his mystification and suspicion. He opened his mouth then closed it, hesitant to voice out his question, then he inhaled deeply and had a new-found eagerness evident on his face. “A-Are you,” Jaskier swallowed, “Geralt of Rivia, are you in a good mood?” He said each word slowly to articulate his suspicions.

Geralt – eyes still fixated on him – smirked, earning him an exaggerated gasp from the bard. “Is that how you see it?”

“Impossible!” Jaskier exclaimed, ignoring his question. “No, no, no, no, no, it can’t be,” he started muttering to himself, thoughtful fingers planted on the base of his chin, while looking at Geralt skeptically.

“Just as how you said that we haven’t been together for a long time for me to know that you can actually stay silent,” Geralt started, his sentence weirdly lengthy, “It’s probably the same for you to be unaware of my, hmm, ability to be amused.”

“And what is it that you find amusing, Witcher?” Jaskier’s question now had a tinge of indignity and… pain?

Geralt tripped and fell face-flat on the consequences of his poorly chosen words. One of the many setbacks of not talking much and being comfortable with someone.

_…Comfortable? Is that what it is?_

Jaskier gulped audibly as he stared at the Witcher, anxiously waiting for an answer to his question. He knew he felt utterly affronted but was slowly forgetting that certain feeling as his gaze followed the movement of the shadows caused by the fire on the Witcher’s sculpted face. He frowned and blinked rapidly when Geralt’s hand started to move, settling to cup his cheek.

“The way your face changes when you get embarrassed,” Geralt muttered, bringing his face closer to the bard’s, “Your enthusiasm… you.”

“Oh, so you find me laughable. Worry not, Geralt, when we reach Novigrad,” Jaskier gulped, a conflicted look in his eyes as he stared at the Witcher’s amber eyes, their faces mere inches away from each other, “You will be free of me.”

Shit. That was not how Geralt wanted to say it, and now, their conversation is takin a turn for the worst. He sighed at the feeling of Jaskier’s breath against his face. “That’s not how I was supposed to say it,” Geralt muttered in irritation.

“Melitele’s mercy, you’re acting weird, Geralt!” Jaskier hesitantly escaped the firm hand on his cheek, internally whining at the loss of the heat from Geralt’s hand, the loss of the feeling of callouses rubbing against his smooth skin.

He walked to the cave’s wall to lean against it, folding his arms as a defensive mechanism. He stared at the fire, remembering all the people he loved that left him and the pain that came with it. He certainly didn’t like whatever was happening. Jaskier was very much content with his relationship with the Witcher right now and didn’t want it to change if the result is being alone again. He was content with what he was able to get – the opportunity to observe, to be able to talk to him without much worry. Even being able to massage his, erm, lovely bottom with soothing chamomile. Yes, he was very much content. Even if he must satisfy himself late at night.

Geralt swore that he could hear Jaskier frown. He looked up to find the usually talkative bard staring at the blazing fire, completely lost in his thoughts. He tentatively strode towards the bard and discovered that Jaskier did not notice him moving. “Jaskier,” he whispered when he was finally pinning the bard against the wall.

“Fuck!” Jaskier exclaimed, accidentally banging his head against the solid wall. “Geralt--” His sentence was cut off by a calloused finger pressed against his lips.

“Wait,” Geralt whispered, suddenly alert. “Stay silent, Jaskier.” The Witcher walked towards the entrance of the cave, staying planted against the wall, carefully keeping his movements silent. Jaskier, too, moved to hide on an unlit corner where he could still see the happenings beyond the stone wall. The cave was filled by nothing but the sound of crackling wood, as well as the echoes of the rain from the outside. Later, sounds of footsteps were heard, moving ever closer to where they were.

After a few seconds of silent tension, Jaskier heard grunts and shuffling of feet, then came a pained grunt of a third person and a loud thud. He could hear Geralt’s huffs as he exerted effort on whatever he was doing.

“It’s safe, Jaskier,” the Witcher pants. Jaskier emerged from his hiding position, finding Geralt standing over an unconscious man with bound hands. Geralt sat the man up against the wall, giving Jaskier a clear view of his face. He gasps at the realization that the stranger was, indeed, the lone man from the inn last night who had been shooting glances at Geralt.

 _Wow, jealousy._ Jaskier rolled his eyes at the thought of Geralt bedding the assassin. He heard a low chuckle beside him, making him turn his head to the direction of the Witcher, who was, unbelievably, laughing to himself. “What?”

“It really shows, doesn’t it?” Geralt wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, which shouldn’t look so gorgeous, but despite Jaskier’s warring thoughts, that’s how he found that simple movement to be.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” the bard mutters with evident confusion.

“One sees the world in a way that reflects their lifestyle,” Geralt replied in an uncharacteristically poetic manner, “You saw a potential bedmate, while I saw the possibility of danger.”

Jaskier found himself smiling at the observation. “You ass,” he says, chuckling at the comparison. Both of their attentions were diverted when the previously unconscious man started groaning back to life, his face showing horror and disappointment when he laid eyes on his target and the companion.

“Who sent you?” Geralt asked the assassin.

“Some noble,” the assassin replied coolly. “Before my current target, I killed his wife.”

Geralt shot Jaskier a knowing look, then asked: “How long have you been following him?” then pointed at Jaskier.

“W-What?” Jaskier asked, clearly startled at the conclusion.

“You should stop sticking your sausage in random buns, bard,” Geralt muttered to Jaskier irately, then turned his head back to the assassin to ask him the same question from before.

“Six months.”

“That’s a really long time,” Jaskier commented. “How come you waited for the time that I had a Witcher as a travel companion before killing me?”

The assassin shrugged. “I was instructed to take my time, and I’ve been paid a large sum beforehand.”

“Clearly, your patience thinned,” Geralt said, “You picked the worst time to assassinate Jaskier, here.”

“Well, I thought he would be alone. I took the chance of the small possibility that you were out to do something.” The assassin shrugged again, feigning calmness while he stood in front of Death’s door.

“Many die in the hands of wrong assumptions,” Geralt stated as an ending to their useless conversation.

“Are you going to kill him?” Jaskier asked nervously.

“If we don’t, he will only pose as a bigger threat.” Geralt stared at the doomed man, sensing his gut-wrenching fear. “I won’t make it messy,” he said, then started walking towards their bags. He took one vial of dark liquid from his pouch, and Jaskier knew that it was one of the elixirs he frequently uses for battling monsters. For Geralt, or anyone else that had their body accustomed to the concoction, it served as some sort of strength and sensory enhancer. For those that hadn’t, it was an amazingly potent poison.

“Er, h-he won’t,” Jaskier gulped, moving his hands uncertainly, “He won’t explode, now, will he? Uh, Geralt?”

“It won’t be messy.”

The assassin’s face, when he saw the substance in the Witcher’s hand, was that of acceptance. He knew that he won’t live to see another day and was suddenly flooded with contentment at the thought of being able to live with the spoils of the contract money, even just for a few months. “Alfons,” he said suddenly.

“What was that?”

“My name.” The assassin sighed before staring at the fire. “At least two people will know that I existed before I die.” He shrugged once more before opening his mouth to welcome the poison. Geralt drained the contents of the vial onto the man’s opened mouth, then closed it with his hand to prevent the liquid from escaping. The man convulsed in his binds as his body fought for a more spacious area to die in, then bubbles escaped his lock-jawed mouth as the dark liquid coursed through his veins, turning his skin pale and his eyes dark.

Geralt sighed dismissively before looting the body of its belongings, finding a loaded coin purse and the assassination order. He opened it and saw no name, nor a direct address of the employer, hinting that if the assassin failed to do his task, their acquaintance would be completely severed, and he cannot be traced back. Geralt scoffed in disgust at the corruption of men, then proceeded to take the body out, and dispose of it somewhere in the forest near them.

He went back in the cave, drenched with rain, finding a shocked Jaskier. He removed his shirt then sat in front of the fire beside him, observing the bard’s evident consternation. “You should stop fucking people. Or, at least, the married ones.”

“I have,” Jaskier gulped, still staring at the fire as it danced with the wind, “I think. I can’t remember, really. My mind, my memory is very unreliable when it comes to remembering such things.”

“Your sexual vigor never ceases to amaze me, bard.”

“And you, your unwavering will to, uh, exterminate,” Jaskier replies unsurely, shocked at the sight of a man dying slowly and bloodlessly. It might have been better if there was blood, although he didn’t want to dirty their sleeping areas for the night.

“You really need to stop sleeping with married women. And men, maybe,” Geralt lectured him, which made Jaskier glad at the thought of the possible presence of concern.

“Maybe it is better to,” the bard cleared his throat, “To be the one on the receiving end?” Jaskier chuckled awkwardly before a long stretch of silence settled upon them, the cave once again filled by the loud echoes of rain and the crackling of firewood.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully, before proceeding to stand up behind the bard and crouching there. He placed both of his hands on each of Jaskier’s shoulders, gently kneading the tensed muscles. “Just let me do this,” Geralt said in a low rumble when Jaskier seemed uneasy at the sudden act.

“Uh, why?”

“Hush,” Geralt said in finality. He felt Jaskier’s muscles relax underneath his touch, coaxing a noise from him that couldn’t have been anything else but a moan. The bard didn’t seem aware of this, and Geralt found himself enjoying the effortful task for it resulted to these kinds of noises from those luscious lips that sang about Geralt’s stellar endeavors.

Jaskier shivered and snapped out of his elation when one of Geralt’s hands skillfully pressed on a muscle just a few inches above the crack of his arse. Suddenly, he becomes aware of the noises that he had produced a while ago. “Okay, Geralt, thank you very much,” He stood up and hastily strode away from the Witcher. Those hands could elicit reactions from him that are more obvious than just moaning.

Geralt walked directly in front of him, causing him to walk backwards, until his back was pressed flat against the cave wall. Again. Jaskier inhaled deeply, taking in the rain-drenched scent that came from the Witcher. “Tell me, bard, are you forever content with your hand?” Geralt chuckled deeply at Jaskier’s horrified, reddened face, before continuing, “Do you not want the real thing?”

“H-How do you--”

“I don’t easily fall asleep, Jaskier.”

Jaskier groaned in utter embarrassment and covered his face with his hands, before he felt a firm grasp on his wrists that wrenched his shield off his undignified face. “So, you find my liking you amusing, huh, Witcher? Go on, kill me with degrading words.”

Geralt’s face softened, cupping Jaskier’s cheek. “There will be no killing, and certainly no degradation,” Geralt paused to plant a kiss on the corner of Jaskier’s lips, eliciting a gasp from him, “The only thing that will happen is anything that you want to happen.”

Jaskier lowered his head to stare at his feet, realizing that if he so chooses, he could get what he wants. “That means you already know, right? That I’ve been pining… for you.”

“Forgive me, Jaskier,” Geralt whispered against his forehead, “Last night was the only time I was able to confirm anything.”

“If I say I want that thing – I’m sure you know what I mean – to happen, I want to be sure that you want it too.”

“Of course. Now,” Geralt inhaled, and Jaskier was able to see that his pupils were also dilated, “Tell me what you want, bard.”

“First,” Jaskier says with urgency, extending a finger to show that he had a point to make, “If you stop calling me bard and start calling me solely by my name, I’ll do the same for you.”

“Granted, not that I mind. And second?”

“Second is,” Jaskier leaned forward and moved to lick at the lobe of Geralt’s ear, before whispering, “Fuck me.”

“Gladly.”

Before Jaskier even had the chance to immerse himself in the warmth of Geralt’s attention on him, his clothes were ripped off him by two strong, impatient hands. He whined, slapping Geralt’s forearm and telling him that he had a limited wardrobe, before his mouth was eagerly devoured by the hulking Witcher. One by one, his garments disappeared from his body, until his bare groin was pressed against Geralt’s irritatingly clothed legs. “Off,” he demanded as he pulled on the Witcher’s waistband, and in one swift movement, his command was obeyed.

Jaskier moaned when he felt something solid nudge against his abdomen, and his eyes watered as his senses were drowned by sensual heat that he acquired from the sight of the disheveled Witcher in front of him. He took in the sight of Geralt’s heaving chest, before he was lifted off the ground. He was laid down on the bundle of cloths that were supposed to be a makeshift bed, before being looked down on by the Witcher.

“Let’s test your previous query,” Geralt huffed, spreading Jaskier’s legs to gawk at his leaking erection. He thumbed the swollen vein upwards, before flicking the accumulated bead of precum from Jaskier’s rock-hard cock, receiving a stifled whimper from him. He rubbed his slick thumb against Jaskier’s hole before pushing it in shallowly, then removed it, only to be replaced by his middle finger. Geralt worked on loosening Jaskier’s hole as he jerked him off, pushing in and out of him in a tantalizing tempo. He added another finger, then a third, and made sure to press against the walls of his bard’s entrance, curling his fingers when it was against Jaskier’s prostate.

“Fuck,” Jaskier keened in overwhelming pleasure, arching is back lewdly to feel more contact with the Witcher’s effortful hands. He spread his legs wider, a sign for Geralt to just stick his dick inside him, as he writhed underneath the Witcher’s touch that he had craved for so long. “Please, Geralt,” he panted, “Stop using your fingers and sTART FUCKING ME WITH YOUR COCK, PLEASE.”

Geralt removed his fingers from Jaskier’s now loosened entrance, before standing up to get a vial of oil. He stood above Jaskier and poured most of the bottle’s contents on his huge cock, as if displaying himself, then spread the oil on his whole length, moaning as he palmed his aching member. Jaskier whimpered at the sight, the heat of torturous arousal setting his body ablaze.

Geralt chuckled at the sight of Jaskier being so needy, satisfied at the result of his efforts. He kneeled between Jaskier’s legs, pouring the remaining oil on his balls. The bard moaned at the feeling of viscous liquid running down his most sensitive areas, then nearly choked when he felt Geralt’s cock pressing lightly against his hole. He pushed down to meet the member, gasping at the sting of being stretched by something much larger than three fingers. Geralt slowly pushed deeper, pausing every now and then to let Jaskier adapt to the feeling of being filled, until he was completely inside him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Geralt grunted, fighting off the urge to just fuck Jaskier lifeless. He started to move, slowly at first, when Jaskier slapped his forearm, gaining speed with every thrust, until the man under him was nothing but a whimpering mess, clutching tightly on the fabric he laid on.

“More, please, OHFUCKGERALTMORE,” Jaskier muttered wildly, feeling a pressure build up in his balls, as if the very skin tightened. He neared his climax and knew that Geralt also did, if his biting on Jaskier’s neck was any indication. Jaskier came when he felt a tongue trace his jawline, involuntarily tightening the muscles that enveloped Geralt’s cock, as his legs stiffened in pleasure, elated at the very thought of having that cock inside him. “OHGERALTILOVEYOU,” Jaskier moaned as streaks of white fluid erupted from his cock.

Geralt muttered sweet profanities when his vision turned white at the intensity of being sucked in by Jaskier’s torturously tight hole, milking his cock to the last drop of cum. Geralt thrusted in a few times more before pulling himself out of that pleasurable tightness, fighting off the urge to go for a second round. He laid down beside Jaskier, feeling the cold of the stone on his back, as he levelled his breathing. “Love, huh?”

Jaskier groaned and slapped Geralt’s stomach with a limp arm but responded to his question anyway. “Yeah, I love you,” he said after heaving a drawn-out sigh, “But if you don’t want it, we don’t have to go through it. I’m completely satisfied with your presence.”

“Are you?” Geralt chuckled, “And I don’t think what we just did indicates that I don’t want this, us.”

Jaskier beamed at the reciprocation of his feelings, earning him a delighted hum from the Witcher. “Now, I’ll have a bodyguard to protect me from any more assassins.”

Geralt shot him a look of disbelief, rolling his eyes at Jaskier’s past sexual exploits. “I find your cock in some person’s personal space, I’m gonna cut it,*” he jokingly threatened.

Jaskier gulped at the thought but was confident that Geralt was not serious about it. Was he?

He found himself smiling at Geralt’s possessiveness of him as tons of creative ideas for songs entered his head.

He’s definitely going to make a song about this. Absolutely. Without explicitly mentioning his source of inspiration, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok IDK what happened. Well, it’s a first time so do give me suggestions!  
> Quarantine is a pain in the ass but maybe it’s a blessing for us to dabble in our hobbies :>  
> Hope y’all are doing fine and staying healthy. Remember to bathe (lol)  
> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> *reference from a guard in Skyrim that said "I find your hand in somebody's pocket, I'm going to cut it."


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